Page 61 of Bratva Bastard

“Cut the bullshit,” Dimitry said, his arms crossed as he leaned back against the couch.

“What my brother means to say,” Misha said, shooting Dimitry a scolding glare, “is that we know you’ve been working with Andrei, and that you kidnapped Crissy. We refuse to proceed with the wedding until Crissy is released and returned to her mother safely.”

Sorokin nodded, a smile curled at his disgusting lips. “I agree to your terms, on the condition that if we return her today, Maxim is to marry Ana tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” I said out loud, unintentionally.Goddamnit!That’s too soon. I needed more time to get out of it.

Sorokin nodded. “Tomorrow. Otherwise, you can forget the entire deal.”

Fuck the deal, and fuck Sorokin. I don’t want a truce with that asshole anymore. I don’t care what he threatens, I will kill him my goddamn self if I have to.

“Where is she?” I asked, my tone stern. I’d remained level-headed, despite wanting to rip Sorokin’s head off and put it on display for all his followers. “Where is Crissy?”

Sorokin didn’t so much as frown—his stupid, ugly smile still plastered to his face. “That can be arranged. I have no need for Crissy any more, now that her abortion has been successful.”

My heart dropped, hitting the pit of my stomach like a grenade, emotions exploding within me. However, I kept cool, and clenched my jaw tight.

“You forced her to have an abortion?” Misha asked. “You’re fucking sick.”

“Forced?” Sorokin said, laughing too hard. “There was no forcing with her. She was more than happy to oblige. I guess she doesn’t want to bear the child of the bastard brother.”

“Fuck you,” I spat, my fists balled up at my side, knuckles white from the tight grip. “You’re a liar, just like your son.”

“Oh, please. Why do you think she’s not speaking to you anymore? She wanted to be rid of every trace you left behind.”

Bullshit.She was missing, and that was why she hadn’t called.

“But what would you expect from such alow-principledwoman?” Sorokin said with a chuckle. “She probably fucks the whole village. Who knew if the child was even yours! But I couldn’t take the risk. I had to be safe, to protect our assets. I’m sure you understand, we can’t have some tramp coming through and ruining everything.”

Those words hit me like a fucking train, hearing him say such crass things about Crissy when she was anything but. If she did go through with the abortion of her own volition, it was because I’d broken her heart, leaving her to fend for herself in her pregnancy.

I sprung from my seat, my voice low and threatening. “You don’t fucking speak of her like that.Ever.” My hand swung up to his throat and gripped tight, cutting off his oxygen. “Say something else.I fucking dare you. I will rip your head off your fucking body and feed it to the dogs.”

Weapons surrounded me, pointed at me from every guard at every angle.

Letting go of my grip, I stood before him, refusing to cower. I’d had enough of his shit, giving into everythinghewanted—and for what? For him to steal my fucking woman and kill my baby? Fuck him!

Sorokin pulled out his gun, pointing it at my chest. “You should never speak to your father-in-law like that.” His tone had lost all its perky demeanor, a menacing tone taking over.

“You and your shitty daughter can fuck off. You want to talk about a tramp? I willnevermarry that bitch.”

Sorokins eyes narrowed into slits, and he attempted to disengage the gun’s safety, but my leg swung up and knocked him off the chair, kicking him to the ground.

I jerked him up, in front of me. Sorokin’s men aimed their weapons, but his cries and pleas stopped them. “Put your fucking guns down, you idiots! Don’t shoot while he’s attacking me!”

His gun fell from his grasp, hitting the floor, though it went unnoticed through the chaos that erupted. Misha and Dimitry shot Sorokin’s men, incapacitating those they didn’t kill.

Distracted by that, Sorokin elbowed me in the face and dove for the gun. He aimed for my head, but because I had no weapons, I could only stare at the gun.

Bam!

A fucking bullet through the head, just like Soyka. Blood covered the floor, bits of his brain matter scattered about, a pile of bodies slumped on the floor, either dead or near-dead.

Misha had shot him.

His one chance at a truce, and he shot the Sorokin leader… for me. I’d never felt more like a Koslov than I had in that moment. And for the first time, I didn’t feel the urge to shout, “I’m a Chernoff,” because I was proud to be a Koslov brother.

“We got to get the fuck out of here,” Dimitry said. None of us were wounded—besides the pain in my cheek from Sorokin’s elbow—so we took off like bats out of hell, speeding to the entrance.

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